For a while I was checking the news a lot, waiting for miracles, but there’s so much that can’t happen and all we get now is this petty, punitive ninety-percent tax: shaking your helpless stick at the gold gone down the drain.
Bernard Malamud, The Tenants: well, audacity. A writer unafraid to set down his nightmares and—the important part—to interrogate them as he sets them down. I guess Ralph Ellison is said to have found it horribly offensive. This is the risk. I just regret that “courage” is so overused a word for fiction. (Meanwhile, there was a recent direct-to-DVD adaptation starring Snoop Dogg....)
I don’t halt much any more, I don’t notice things. This bothers me. J. suggests it’s the meds; them among others. I just wrote to the English department asking them to leave my name out of next year’s teaching appointments. There has to be a better way.
And Malamud taught four sections of freshman comp a semester, for fifteen years, in Corvallis, Oregon. Who does that? Who gets up in the morning and does that? It makes me feel like a mollusc.
we just say 'snoop' nowadays.
wait, so who's whiter: atem or the person who corrected his usage on "snoop"?
we are both about as white as anyone who calls us out on the interweb for unbearable whiteness
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance
